Godborn
by Jaxrond
Summary: "Did you really think that the old legends just died out and the only heroes around were the ones you brought back from the dead? Do you read at all? Asking some of the gods to keep it in their pants is like telling the knights around here to give up chivalry. Not gonna happen," she leaned back, sighing, "We're still around, we just prefer to keep to ourselves."


To the passing stranger, the man in the non-descript gray suit was just another commuter on the London underground. Red tie slightly askew and left in a bout of forgetfulness, hair a bit mussed from aggravated hands carded through it one too many times, suit wrinkled from the day's wear, his appearance was perfect, right down to the way he would occasionally reach up to grip the back of his neck to rub at an ache that came from bending over a computer for too long. If she hadn't been who she was, Theresa never would have seen the discrepancies. As it was, it had taken her nearly five full minutes to identify just who was causing the chill down her spine. Her eyes slid over him again in a quick glance before flicking away. He was too tense, like he was readying himself for sudden movement, whereas those around him, the real commuters, were relaxed with end-of-the-day exhaustion. She recognized it only because it was something she'd needed to drill out of herself after a close call on a bus.

There were other tells, smaller things, like the little dark watch that wasn't _quite_ nice enough for a businessman of his apparent status. They weren't enough to turn her wary, even with the odd tense posture of his body. What set her on edge were his eyes. He'd glanced up from his evening newspaper when she'd allowed her gaze to rest for a moment too long. Framed by glasses, his eyes were intensely focused, not like those of the others in their car. They should have been tired if he was what he seemed to be, bloodshot from staring at a computer screen. Instead, when he met her eyes, his own widened slightly before he quickly moved on in a forced-casual manner.

Theresa internally sighed. Of course someone would decide to ruin today. It had been going so well, she'd gotten a nicely sized paycheck, Helena had texted to tell her that she'd just purchased the latest Marvel film for their movie-and-thai-food night, and she'd landed a match against a promising challenger, which was sure to be a big score. It honestly couldn't get much better.

And then there was this asshole.

An automated, feminine voice rang out from the overhead speakers, announcing that the train was coming up on its Victoria Station stop. Theresa glanced up, nonchalantly slipping her phone from her pocket and opening her conversation with Helena. It wasn't that she wasn't confident in her abilities to deal with the man should he prove dangerous, it was that she didn't know what he was. Likely not supernatural. At least, she wasn't getting the 'imminent danger' vibes she normally got around inhuman creatures. Her thumbs slid over the touch screen, tapping out a quick message.

 _Might be a little late. Got a sp watching me._

A bubble appeared on screen almost immediately, heralding Helena's response, no doubt quickened by their shorthand for 'suspicious person'. Theresa's lips quirked. It had taken her a long while to convince her roommate that keeping a method of contact at her hip at all times was essential. She was doing much better.

 _Cop?_

Theresa glanced at the man again, just in time to see him quickly look away.

 _Not likely._

A regular policeman wouldn't have put so much effort into blending in. She also ruled out something like a private investigator because she'd been far too careful to have drawn that sort of attention. At least, that's what she believed.

 _Other?_

 _I'm not getting any readings._

There was a pause. The train was beginning to slow, its brakes screeching as it neared the platform. Helena's next response came through.

 _Mage?_

Theresa paused. She hadn't thought of that. The Clocktower wasn't too terribly far away and magus activity wasn't uncommon in this area. But, they had never taken an interest in her, and she had avoided them, doing her best to blend in like a normal human. The train came into the station at that moment. Theresa quickly stood, jamming her phone back into her pocket. Those others who were departing began to move en masse toward the doors, carrying her along with them. As soon as she stepped onto the cement platform, she did her best to just slip into the crowd.

In her pocket, her phone buzzed, and, as she moved quickly up the steps that would take her back to the surface, she risked a glance.

 _Watch urself. Call if u need me._

As if she needed the warning. The little reminder of present backup was nice, though. A quick tap over the letter 'k' was her only response as she continued to move with the press of the crowd. She didn't have to worry about acting natural. For her, this little jaunt was a weekly procedure. She simply walked with the others around her, bearing herself upright and proud to deter any unsavory individuals who may set their eyes on her. Her plain black coat hugged her frame, emphasizing the almost uncommon breadth of her shoulders. She was quite tall for a woman, which occasionally drew attention, but, the hard glint in her grey eyes served to ward off any who might become too curious, a subtle warning that she had little patience for those who may obstruct her way.

The chill on her spine remained, and a quick glance back told her that the man was still there, moving through the crowd not far behind her. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Had it not been for that sense of danger, she wouldn't have bothered with him. As it was, she faced forward again, mentally sizing him up. He was smaller than her, both in height and width, but, she'd faced smaller opponents before who had nearly left her bloody in the ring. Still, if it came down to a fight, they couldn't do it here, where there were so many witnesses and those who may call the human authorities.

Theresa slipped through a particularly thick bunch of people, using her size to her advantage, and down a side hall that remained unused by the general populace. As she stepped into the hall, she felt the brush of enchantment over her skin, something only those with a magic sense would notice. It wasn't particularly strong, just a deflection that caused regular people to be aware of the hall but see no need to use it, or even explore it. It was a handy spell, and, unfortunately, not one that Theresa herself knew.

She was immediately alone, soft-soled shoes quiet on the hard floor. The harsh white shine of the lights overhead glinted off white-blonde hair as it fell in a thick braid down her back, nearly reaching her waist. It was a stark contrast from the black of her coat and pants, as was her pale skin. Her hands were shoved nonchalantly into her coat pockets, something that would have worked to allow her to seem more normal if not for the strong posture with which she carried herself.

She was only fifty or so feet down the hall when she heard another set of steps. She glanced back and saw the man, who had abandoned his 'common businessman' act. He met her gaze directly, picking up his pace, black dress shoes clicking obnoxiously. Up ahead was a bend in the hall, around which was the door to her destination. She considered for a moment, wondering if she should just make a run for it and be done with the man. But, Mattie wouldn't like it if she brought some mage to his door. It would be a near violation of the "Demigod Fight Code" as he called it, the first rule being 'Don't talk about Demigod fight club', of course. Mattie's ire aside, she didn't like that this guy seemed to think that he could just tail her without repercussions.

She merely faced forward again and continued on, not speeding up as she began to round the bend.

"Excuse me."

Theresa scoffed softly at the attempt to halt her steps, continuing on without concern. The man realized her intentions and broke into a jog, aiming to catch up with her before she made it around the bend.

He failed to do so. As soon as she was certain they were both out of sight of the main tunnel, she turned. He was inches away, hand extended to grab her shoulder. Mistake.

Theresa's body moved almost instinctually, one hand moving to grip his wrist, the other aimed for his throat. She twisted with a surprising speed, particularly for a woman of her size and build. As her fingers enclosed around his wrist, she saw the man's eyes widened and allowed herself a flash of satisfaction. One of the very nice things about being the child of a warrior god was the physical prowess it granted. Her father was the god of strength, which granted her a great amount of physical power naturally, but, when combined with the athleticism of most demigods and any amount of training, it was devastating. Opponents often assumed that she would move slowly due to her build, and catching them off-guard never ceased to amuse her.

The man moved to counter, reaching up to guard his neck, but, he wasn't quite fast enough to stop her. She completed the motion of her body by using her momentum to ram him back and up, pinning him against the wall. A choking sound left him as he made impact, his head smacking into the tile. He was dazed, but, he managed to grip the hand that held his throat with a surprising amount of strength. He hung there, pinned by his neck and one wrist, his feet dangling a few inches from the floor, toes just barely touching the ground. After the first moment of shock and pain wore off, his eyes refocused on her and he sucked in a sharp breath. She hadn't applied enough pressure to choke him, not yet, at least. But, her hold on him certainly wasn't comfortable.

"Stop," he wheezed out, "Just wanna talk."

A London accent. Interesting.

"And you showed that by following a lone woman down a hallway with no one else around?" Theresa's tone was calm and touched by some disbelief.

He held her wrist tightly, not making any move to break free yet, despite the obvious discomfort in his pinched expression. "Had to verify it was you…Theresa Macdonough" he strained.

Theresa's eyes narrowed, her grip on his neck tightening enough that he took in another sharp breath and stiffened.

"Who are you?" she demanded, voice lowered in a sort of anger at having been marked in such a way.

"Please…miss…I'm Brandon Mayes…I work for Chaldea," the choked nature of his words told Theresa that she couldn't keep up this amount of pressure if she wanted him to speak. She relaxed her grip only slightly and he took in a grateful breath.

"Never heard of it," she said bluntly.

Brandon, if that was his name, twitched in her hold, his grasp on her wrist still tight.

"We're an organization approved by the UN…to find and manage threats to humanity…and to recruit those who might be able to help us do that."

Theresa stared at him unwaveringly, processing this.

"So, if what you're saying is true, you're a bunch of superhero wannabes," she deadpanned. Still, disbelief aside, he had found her and followed her, after making a big deal out of blending in. And he knew who she was. If he really did work for some big shot organization, they could find her again, even if she got out of this weird situation first, "Which does your organization consider me? A threat or a recruit? And why?"

He strained in her hold, toes tapping uselessly on the floor as he reached for it with his feet. He looked at her pleadingly, all of that intensity gone from his expression.

"Please, put me down if you have more questions."

Theresa scoffed. "I'll consider it after you answer those."

He winced but complied without much choice.

"I was dispatched to find you and bring you in for recruitment. If you refuse…then you're a possible threat. We've got footage of you fighting from about three months ago…we've been looking for you ever since."

Three months. Theresa wracked her memory, trying to figure out what fights could have been recorded. Mattie had banned all video recordings and photography in his ring. No one was interested in letting the world know that the old gods still occasionally spawned people who were more than human. It was safer for everyone involved to let the world believe that the old myths were just that. The knowledge that they weren't would cause panic, and the human authorities would undoubtedly move against any demigod they could find, perceiving a threat. Everyone understood that, and everyone respected Mattie's rules, not at all interested in pissing off a child of Mercury. It wasn't one of her fellow fighters. No one was that stupid.

"Fights? I just work at the department store," her mouth formed the lie even as she continued thinking, "And occasionally do some judo."

What other fights had she been in? The ring was a necessary outlet for those descendants of battle gods who had to use their powers in the way they were meant to. Fighting others of their kind kept them from being driven mad by their heightened combat senses and natural battle instincts. As far as she knew…

Brandon made an uncomfortable sound.

"Facial recognition software was used on the footage. It's how we identified you."

"I still don't know what you're talking about," she loosened her grip so that it was tight enough only to keep him in place.

He seemed to have found a more comfortable position in her hold, as he'd stopped squirming.

"The Alps. You were fighting…some kind of monster."

The recognition came at the same time as the self-disgust. Theresa had asked Mattie to keep an ear out for trouble, and he'd never disappointed. The old gods were alive and well, if not diminished, as were some of the creatures who had freely walked the earth during their height. Mostly, Theresa let them be, since they usually withdrew to those places untouched by humans and kept to themselves. Sometimes, though, monsters emerged. When Mattie had informed her of a 'giant killer wolf in the Alps that eluded all attempts to hunt it', she had set out immediately, taking her armor and weapons with her.

"We thought you might be a mage of some sort," Brandon said when she remained quiet, "But you don't fight like one. You could be what we've been looking-"

Theresa bared her teeth in a bout of anger, both at herself and at this meddling organization. If what he said was true, there was no lying her way out of this, despite all of her uncle's hard work in teaching her how to do so effectively. This meant that the man in her grasp was a threat. Her grip on Brandon's throat tightened again and he choked, clawing at her hand as the knot of his tie was driven into his neck by her palm.

"If you watched me fight," she snarled, "You should have realized what would happen when your mage ass approached me so carelessly."

His eyes were wide behind his glasses, already beginning to water.

"If I don't report…" he managed, almost airlessly, "You'll be dealt with…as a threat."

Theresa didn't let up, anger still burning in her veins. His flesh had taken on a steadily darkening purple cast and his feet kicked as he vainly tried to escape. Brandon's fingertips tugged at her hand and wrist, clawed over her coat sleeve in an attempt to find purchase.

"Please…"

It was a bare whisper, almost below hearing due to his lack of air. Theresa considered him, heart pounding in her ears. She should kill him. Eliminate the threat. Choke the life from the arrogant mage who thought to simply walk up and demand she come with him. Leave him as a warning to his organization, who presumed to inform her of how she should be _dealt with_ …

Her phone buzzed.

Theresa's expression cleared and her eyes refocused. _Helena_. She released Brandon and stepped back as he crumpled to the ground, failing to catch himself on his feet. He fell to his knees, landing on his elbows when his hands were fast enough. He gasped for air, coughing raggedly. Theresa stared at him, anger gone, chased away by a sick feeling. She had nearly killed him. Had been fully ready to. She'd literally been squeezing the life from him, undeterred by his pleading. Horror churned in the pit of her stomach, brought about by the realization that she had nearly crossed the line to murder, driven by the all-consuming anger she so often struggled to keep under control. A more unfortunate trait from her father.

Brandon looked up, watery eyes wary and a touch fearful. He held his throat and, beneath his hand, Theresa could see the edges of what would become dark bruises in the shape of her fingers. She breathed a bit harder than normal through parted lips, hands trembling at her sides. Her skin, usually porcelain, was ashen.

"Get out of my sight," she said quietly, voice miraculously steady, "And never contact me again."

Brandon shakily pushed himself upright, his breathing slowly returning to normal. His body posture was defensive now, but, even when death had been imminent, he hadn't unleashed any spells. It was a distant realization in the back of Theresa's mind.

"I won't contact you," he rasped, "But, please, Ms. Macdonough, Chaldea needs people like you. There are some enemies that mages can't handle. Your abilities would be used to make the world a better place."

She felt numb, barely hearing his words, certainly not appreciating his continued attempts at his job despite her previous reaction. Her mouth moved of its own accord.

"No. I have no interest in joining you."

His eyes were no longer intense, or even fearful. Instead, he simply regarded her. Then, he reached into his inner pocket. Theresa instinctively tensed, but, he only withdrew a business card.

"If you should change your mind."

He extended it to her and she robotically took it, her mind fully on autopilot as she plucked the card from his hand. Grey eyes scanned the simple font and rather plain face. It was a card for Chaldea itself, she realized, not for the man who had taken her attempt on his life surprisingly well. She looked up as he picked himself up, still holding his throat, and staggered down the hall on shaky legs.

She couldn't say how long she stood there, staring after him even after he'd disappeared from her sight. Her hand flexed, the sensation of his fragile windpipe under her fingers still present. The sight of the bruises on his skin caused her to clench her fist and grit her teeth, fiercely beautiful features darkening in disgust at herself. She stuffed the card into her pocket and turned on her heel, withdrawing her phone.

The cause of the previous disturbance was indeed a text from Helena. Theresa paused again, staring at the words on the screen.

 _Remember, restraint._

A humorless smile pulled at her lips. How well the other knew her. The timing of that particular message had been almost divine. If she didn't know better, she might think that one of their divine relatives had planned it. She quickly tapped out a reply.

 _Dealt with it. Tell you when I get home. See what you can find on Chaldea. I'll talk to Mattie._

After pressing 'send', Theresa returned her phone to its original place and moved toward the door in the side of the hall. As she approached, she felt another buzz, this one coming from a stronger deflection enchantment. Ignoring it, she knocked three times, then two, then five. A moment later, the door swung open and she was greeted by the familiar, narrow face of the ring overseer. He looked at her with slightly widened eyes, his red hair tied back from his face. At her towering height, Theresa had to look down slightly to see him clearly.

"Terry, babe, what happened? I checked the cameras when you didn't show for the match and it looked like you were putting the squeeze on some poor commuter. What did he _do_?" he drawled, both amused and concerned.

His presence caused her to relax slightly, not a normal reaction most had to a child of the god of thieves. But, to her, Mattie meant safety in secrecy and comfort in a place where there were others of her kind.

"He followed me down here, Mattie," she said gruffly, "Sorry about the match."

He waved a hand airily.

"Sweetheart, you know I can get you a match any time you want. Got one later this evening, in fact, if you're still interested after... _that_ ," he motioned to the wall, where his security cameras had undoubtedly caught footage of her near-murder experience.

Theresa shook her head.

"I appreciate it, but, _that_ left me with some questions I'd like to have answered."

Mattie blinked up at her in surprise, dark brown eyes far too innocent in a well-practiced act.

"Oh? Questions for _me_?" he pressed his fingertips to his own chest, as though caught off-guard.

She hummed an affirmative, flipping the card out of her pocket to hold it between her first two fingers.

"Yeah. To start, what can you tell me about a group called Chaldea?"

The beginnings of the mischievous glint in his eyes went out, like the dying glow of an ember. He reached out and plucked the card from her grasp, lips pursing.

"Oh, Terry, baby, what have you gotten yourself into?"

* * *

 **Welcome to Godborn! I'll confess that I've never played Fate/Grand Order, but, I was in the midst of watching Zero and Apocrypha and this little thing was born. It started off with the wondering of: if some of the gods are still rolling around, albeit in a lessened form, why don't we have some Percy Jackson action going on with some living heroes? Thus, AU time~. The story will start off pretty seriously before evening out to an action-romance-slight comedy. Thanks to my cowriter Melissiaew, as always. Even though she's not the Fate fan I am, she agreed to check over things~! Please, feel free to leave a review with constructive criticism, thoughts, speculations, and lore corrections (I'm operating on a research foundation only, after all)! Flames will not be tolerated unless Karna or Caster Cu Chulainn is involved.**


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